


Two SHIELD Agents Walk Into A Bar

by psalmoflife



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blind Date, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink Meme, M/M, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Swearing, get-together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psalmoflife/pseuds/psalmoflife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil Coulson's blind date doesn't show, he ends up having dinner with the guy at the other end of the bar, who's also been stood up. Clint is handsome and surprisingly sweet, and it starts to turn into something serious. </p>
<p>And then they find out that they work together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two SHIELD Agents Walk Into A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt (http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/13316.html?thread=31536900#t31536900) which asks for Phil and Clint meeting after both being stood up, not realizing who the other is. 
> 
> Rated for sexy times, and also some language and canon-typical mentions of violence (aka, they go on an op).

“You get stood up too?” 

Phil looks up from where he’s been fiddling with a cocktail napkin, soggy with condensation from the drink he’s been nursing for the last half-hour. It’s the guy from earlier, the one who’d asked him if his name was David. They’d had a good laugh about the prospect of ending up with the wrong date, then retreated to opposite ends of the bar.

Now the guy is next to him again, the end of a beer in hand, wearing a resigned smile. Phil allows the side of his mouth to crook up and checks his watch, despite already knowing that it says his date is so ridiculously late that there’s no way he’s coming. 

“I guess I did,” Phil says. “David never showed?”

The guy’s eyebrows go up a little. “Good memory,” he says. “But yeah, looks like I’m on my own tonight. So…” he pauses, tipping his head back to drain the rest of his beer, “I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

Phil finishes the last of his own, watered-down drink to give himself time to think. He hadn't been thrilled when his sister informed him he was meeting a ‘completely gorgeous man!’ for dinner, since meeting new people tends to make him edgy, but he’d wound up looking forward to it. Phil hates dating but enjoys being in a relationship, and he’s been single long enough that it was becoming grating. This guy- well, he might not be completely gorgeous, but there is some definite build stretching his button-down shirt, and the way his nose has clearly been broken a few times is pretty endearing. 

“Yeah, okay.”

\---

The guy’s name is Clint, and the shoulders are apparently the result of his work as a security contractor.

“It’s not the most glamorous thing,” Clint admits, flipping through the menu. “It’s a lot of standing around. But I’m pretty good at it, and they don’t care that I never went to college.” He gives Phil a furtive glance at that, like he thinks Phil will- laugh at him, or something, but Phil just smiles. 

“I wish the security guys at my office had your attitude.”

Clint smiles at that, a little softer than before. “Where do you work?”

“I contract out for a few different places,” Phil deflects. “I do risk analysis, usually when companies are bidding things out, so a lot of short term projects.” He technically _does_ do risk analysis on a lot of short term projects. He just analyzes national security issues rather than business ventures. 

Most people don’t push further, since they have no idea how a guy in a suit actually analyzes risk, but Clint shocks the hell out of him by saying, “So, what, you fiddle around in Excel and run Monte Carlo simulations all day? Ugh, way too much math for me.” When Phil raises his eyebrows, Clint grins sheepishly and says, “Our break area isn't too far from the risk guys’ cubicles. They’re kinda loud. It’s interesting, but I wouldn't want to do it.” 

Phil makes a mental note to make sure that his door is always closed when he starts swearing at one of his models. 

“I enjoy it,” he says. “There’s something kind of satisfying in knowing that you figured something out that would have been impossible without statistics.” He grins wickedly. “And sometimes it’s nice to prove an asshole CEO dead wrong.” He means senior agent, not CEO, but the intent behind the statement stands.

Clint laughs at that, loud and bright, attracting attention from the tables near them. Phil barely notices, too caught up in how much Clint’s face changes when he’s happy.

\---

Clint is funny. Like, really, seriously, _funny_. Their waiter has been by to top off Phil’s water at least five times because he can’t stop laughing, and he’s temporarily given up trying to eat, because he keeps choking on his pasta. 

Clint’s incredibly animated while he talks, waving his arms around to emphasize how completely stupid his boss is, and Phil is struck with a sudden image of Clint in the kitchen of his apartment, telling Phil about his day while they make dinner.

He banishes the thought, sternly telling himself that it’s far, far too early to be thinking such things, but the warmth of that image stays with him for a while.

\---

Towards the end of their entrees, the conversation turns to travel. It turns out that they've both been to some pretty obscure, far-flung places, but have never been to Paris.

“I keep thinking I should go,” Clint says. “See the Mona Lisa, climb the Eiffel Tower, eat cake. I don’t know why I keep putting it off.”

“My sister went on her honeymoon there,” Phil says. “She really loved it, but she always talks about the city in terms of her husband. I think it’s gotten into my head that I shouldn’t go alone, that it should be some kind of romantic getaway.”

He realizes too late that he may have just made a creepy offer to take Clint on vacation, but Clint’s face is still easy, open, and Phil promises himself that he’ll be more careful of his words for the rest of the night. 

\---

Except then Clint talks him into splitting a dessert, and it turns out that they both hate caramel and love the same hockey team, and Phil finds himself blurting out a “How are you _real_?”

He seriously cannot believe that he just said that out loud, but rather than looking horrified, Clint looks shyly pleased, the tips of his ears turning bright red. “I’m really glad David didn't show up,” he finally says.

Phil exhales, smiles shakily. “Me too.”

\---

Phil has a dilemma.

He does not kiss on the first date. Ever. He doesn't. 

Except he kind of, really, wants to kiss Clint.

He tries to cover by re-starting their conversation as they wait on the corner for a cab, but what comes out is, “I had a really nice time.” Which is what he usually says when he actually didn't, and now he is actively restraining himself from planting his palm in the center of his forehead. 

But Clint laughs, and says “C’mere,” and gives Phil a quick hug as his cab pulls up. “I’ll call you about the movie?” 

“Yeah. Looking forward to it.” Phil thinks he might be grinning like an idiot, but most of his attention is focused on the way his neck has been tingling ever since Clint’s warm breath ghosted over the skin near his collar. 

\---

Clint calls the next day. It’s a crazy day at SHIELD, with an unexpected coup d’état in South America with an unknown amount of external involvement, so Phil doesn't really have time to talk. Clint sounds busy too, breathless and a little annoyed, but they agree to meet at the cinema that weekend. 

\---

The teenager at the ticket counter looks a little surprised when they ask for two tickets to Rent. Phil isn't sure why, he and Clint can’t possibly be the only male duo that’s come to the film, but refrains from pointing this out. 

They’re both familiar with the show, which turns into something of a disadvantage as they have many whispered conversations about how they prefer the stage version. Phil is a little disappointed in the movie, but can’t complain about sitting thigh-to-thigh with Clint. 

Plus, since it’s no longer their first date, he doesn't feel guilty about the kiss at the end of it, warm and flavored with salt from the popcorn. 

\---

The next month is a strange contrast between the stress of a level three SHIELD alert and the presence of Phil’s phone constantly in hand, a perpetual smile on his lips as he and Clint trade texts.

Level three alerts are a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, so Phil works long hours while also sneaking out for regular meals with Clint. They become a staple at a greasy spoon a few blocks from headquarters, legs pressed together while they debate the merits of various fried appetizers and fight each other for the last bite of pie. 

There are plenty more kisses, sticky and sweet, and Phil finds himself eating faster so that they have more time to say goodbye, tucked in the doorway of the out-of-business storefront down the block. Phil never forgets that they’re close to SHIELD, and keeps it to making out with some minor wandering hands, promising himself that waiting for a bed will be worth it.

It turns out that the coup _did_ have some external involvement, from one of the drug cartels that wanted a government willing to look the other way, so Phil effectively moves in to his office for a few days. When they finally give the go-order for the strike team he barely has the energy to fire off an apologetic sorry-I-ignored-you-all-day text to Clint before he collapses into his bed.

When he wakes up the next morning, there’s a return text.

_Busy day for me too- plans tomorrow?_

Phil hesitates, sliding his thumb over the screen. _Come over? I’ll cook._

\---

Clint shows up with a nice bottle of red wine and a pair of jeans that do something absolutely amazing to his ass.

Phil has lasagna in the oven- making one of his grandma’s recipes is always the best way for him to unwind after a long week- and Clint gives an appreciative sniff as he toes off his shoes. 

“You really did cook,” he says wonderingly. 

“I said I would,” Phil points out.

“Yeah, but…” Clint shrugs. “I guess no one’s really cooked for me before. It kinda feels special.” 

Phil doesn't really know what to say to that, and before he can think of a reply, he’s distracted by a scrape on Clint’s neck, which seems to develop into a bruise beneath the neck of his shirt. Clint catches him looking and gives him a sheepish smile. “Work got a little rough,” he says. “It looks worse than it feels.”

Eating at the table just feels too formal (especially since Phil _never_ eats at his table), so they sit on his couch while they scarf down the lasagna, which quickly devolves into snuggling once their food is gone. By then they've also made it through the full bottle of wine, and between the wine, the fuzzy blanket he’d tugged over them, and Clint’s weight curled into his side, Phil is getting a little sleepy. 

Clint is flagging too, and after a big yawn he catches Phil’s eye with a rueful smile. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m usually better company, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” Phil admits, giving in to a yawn of his own. “I just don’t want to move.”

“Mmm, me neither,” Clint murmurs, twisting to bury his face in Phil’s chest.

Clint startles awake twenty minutes later, blinking owlishly to look at the clock. “I should go,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know it’s not that late, but it sure feels like it.”

Phil yawns. “I know what you mean.” He reaches out to snag Clint’s hand before he can actually get off the couch. “You can stay, if you want,” he offers quietly. 

Clint gives him a long look, like he’s expecting Phil to yell ‘just kidding!’ “Do you have some sweats I can borrow?”

There’s some awkwardness as they get in each other’s way, bumping elbows while they brush their teeth and pretending not to check each other out as they trade clothes for pajamas. Clint’s shoulders look just as amazing as Phil had imagined, but that just makes the deep purple of the bruise even more jarring. 

The way they flop into bed together feels oddly familiar. There’s something long-term-relationship-esque about just… sleeping. But Phil knows that neither he nor Clint have the energy for more than a good-night kiss.

Still, he isn't too surprised when they end up pressed together in the middle of the bed, Clint’s chest warm against Phil’s back.

\---  
Phil wakes up nearly nine hours later to the feel of Clint’s erection nestled into his ass. 

He doesn't know if Clint is awake yet, but can’t help angling his hips back a bit, and smiles when he is rewarded with a muffled moan.

Clint’s arm had tightened reflexively around him, but Phil still manages to roll over, tipping his head up for a kiss. He hadn't been entirely sure how things would proceed from there- some people just cannot do morning sex without coffee first- but Clint responds enthusiastically, licking his way into Phil’s mouth while grinding their hips together. 

Phil works a hand in between them, shoving sweatpants down over hips, moaning long and low at the first feeling of Clint’s cock brushing against his bare thigh. Clint’s hand joins his, fingers tangling as they jack each other off. Phil comes with Clint swallowing down his moans in a sloppy kiss, Clint following him over the edge not long after. 

In the aftermath Phil is a little embarrassed about jumping the guy, and more than a little sticky, but Clint gives him a wide smile and a slower, softer kiss. “Best wake-up ever,” he declares. 

Clint has a glint in his eye that probably prefaces round two, but his stomach is also growling. “Breakfast?” Phil asks.

Clint glances between them, giving a pointed glance at the mess drying on their stomachs. “Shower first.” 

\---

In the shower they figure out that they’re both actually starving, which means they (mostly) keep their hands to themselves. Clint can’t really fit into Phil’s clothes- he’s a little shorter, and significantly broader- but makes do with another set of sweats and his undershirt from the night before. 

Phil had (optimistically) stocked up on breakfast foods, and ends up frying bacon and eggs with Clint’s arms around his waist. 

“I wouldn't have pegged you as such a cuddler,” he says, regretting it almost immediately as Clint stiffens against his back. 

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away a little. “I’m, um, a tactile person?”

“I don’t mind,” Phil assures him. “Just a little surprised that the big, bad security guard likes to snuggle.”

Clint laughs, pressing his forehead into the back of Phil’s neck. “While we’re sharing, I’m a little surprised that the genius analyst likes to cook. Shouldn't you have a personal chef?”

Phil snorts. “If you want to cover the bill, I would _love_ a chef. Not all of us get hazard pay,” he teases.

Eventually Phil finishes breakfast and they migrate back to the couch, watching cartoons while they eat. Clint is clearly still pretty exhausted, and stretches out with his head in Phil’s lap as soon as he’s done. 

Phil has every intention of having a productive day- his laundry pile is growing dangerously high- but finds himself watching the faces Clint makes while he dreams, carding one hand through his hair. 

Phil wakes up three hours later with an incredible crick in his back. 

His groan is loud enough to startle Clint awake, who shoots upright looking like he’s ready to fight off an intruder. He relaxes when he realizes they’re still alone in the apartment, then gives Phil a concerned look. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I just- I need a new couch, and sleeping on this one is uncomfortable.” He looks over at Clint, who seems completely fine. “Or maybe it’s just me, it doesn't seem to bother you.”

Clint gives a rueful smile. “After some of the places I've crashed, anything with cushions seems glamorous.” He reaches one hand around to the back of Phil’s neck, unerringly pressing his thumb into one of the knots. “Want a back rub?”

“God, yes,” Phil groans. 

Clint chivvies him back into his bedroom, pushing him towards the bed while he goes off in search of lotion. When he comes back he gives Phil a no-nonsense look and tugs his shirt off before pressing him, face-down, into the mattress. 

Clint has _amazing_ hands. 

He straddles Phil’s legs, resting the bulk of his weight on Phil’s ass and upper thighs, and goes to town. Phil would be embarrassed by the noises he’s making, but he’s pretty sure that Clint just got rid of a knot that had been in his back for years. 

After half an hour, Phil’s back is loose and pliant, and Clint’s movements have become less clinical and more sensual. He isn't pressing hard anymore, instead running his fingers down the full length of Phil’s back, curving over his sides and tracing along the waistband of his pants. Phil’s long since been hard, and he’s pretty positive Clint is, too. 

He has every intention of saying something mature and seductive, but what comes out is “There’s lube in the nightstand.” 

Clint’s weight immediately leaves Phil as he lunges forward, pawing through the drawer and coming back with the bottle and a condom. Phil tries to flip over at the same time he’s kicking off his pants, and ends up tangled until Clint comes to rescue him, tugging the rest of Phil’s clothes off. 

Clint strips in what has to be record time before falling forward and sucking the tip of Phil’s cock into his mouth. Phil’s hips fly up off the bed, and Clint uses one hand to hold him still while sliding the slick fingers of his other hand back behind his balls. Clint slips one finger inside Phil, then a second, scissoring and twisting them, laughing a little when he brushes Phil’s prostate and Phil leaps up again.

“Please,” Phil gasps out, “Please, I’m ready, just-”

Clint gives one last obscene slurp around Phil’s cock, then pulls away, covering himself in a condom and a layer of lube. 

Phil’s legs automatically hitch up, wrapping around Clint’s waist as he sinks in, and Phil isn't entirely sure where his moan stops and Clint’s begins. Clint holds still for a long moment, hovering above Phil, braced on his incredible forearms. 

Eventually Phil cants his hips up a bit, and Clint takes the hint, beginning to thrust in a slow, smooth glide. The room fills with the sounds of moaning and gasping, punctuated by the sound of skin-on-skin. When Clint hitches one of Phil’s legs up over his arm, it has him hitting the exact right spot, white-hot bursts of pleasure radiating up Phil’s spine and through his cock, taking him higher and higher until he comes with a low moan, spilling all over his stomach. He can feel his entire body tensing, and Clint’s thrusts become more erratic, fucking hard and deep into Phil.

Phil grasps onto Clint’s shoulders, steadying himself as Clint’s hips snap forward with bone rattling strength, clutching him into a half hug when Clint’s entire body goes stiff and then collapses forward into Phil. 

Clint’s weight pushes him down into the mattress, surrounding him in warmth. “You’re amazing,” Clint mumbles. “God, I-”

“I know,” Phil murmurs. “Me too.”

\---

They don’t move in together.

Really, they don’t.

It’s just, Clint lives all the way out in Brooklyn, in a tiny walkup that smells a little funny. He looks supremely embarrassed when Phil comes to visit, and while Phil tells himself that his place is just more convenient (which is true!), it’s mostly that he never wants to see that look on Clint’s face again. 

They both know that moving in together after just a couple of months is putting a little too much faith in the continuation of the honeymoon phase, but more and more of Clint’s things start migrating themselves to Phil’s apartment. After the first weekend, Phil made sure to pick up an extra set of toiletries and Clint’s favorite cereal, and when Clint starts staying at Phil’s more nights than he goes home, it’s natural that he starts leaving spare changes of clothes in a drawer Phil clears out for him. And when Phil has a string of late nights, he gives Clint his spare set of keys, and tries not to think about how _right_ it feels to have someone to come home to. 

But after six months, it’s feeling more and more ridiculous to not just make it official. Clint’s lease is up in a month, and Phil’s is up the month after that, and he’s begun casually scrolling through the For Rent ads. He likes his current place, but it would be nice to have a little more room, maybe a second bedroom that Phil could use as a home office. (He’s never had a desire to work from home before, but he’s never had Clint at home before, either.) 

He damn near jumps to the ceiling when Fury comes bursting in to his office just as Phil is debating the merits of more closet space versus a second bathroom. Fury gives him a shrewd look and asks, “Am I interrupting something?” 

“No, sir.” Fury knows he’s lying, of course, but years of friendship means that he won’t press Phil unless he thinks it’s actually interfering with his job. 

“Got a new job for you,” Fury says. “The gamma team has gone straight to hell, and Anderson has been grounded by psych until he regains the ability to speak in the first person. I need you to take over.” 

“Uh,” Phil says eloquently. “I’m not a field handler, sir.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Fury demands. “But I need someone who can take over on the Rio op _right now_ and you’re the only person who knows it well enough. The team is a total shit-show, but they’re talented.” 

Phil doesn't really have a choice, but he appreciates Fury pretending to give him time to think. “When do I start, sir?” 

“Right now. You've got a briefing in ten minutes in conference room 102.”

\---

On the walk to the conference room, Phil tries to remember everything he’s ever heard about the gamma team. Anderson is well known as one of SHIELD’s most eccentric, and that’s made the gamma team the island of misfit agents. Cooper, the infiltration specialist, is a former Olympic-level gymnast who can contort herself into bizarre positions (and also flirt her way into absolutely anyone’s bedroom). The explosives guy, Caprezo, is just a little too obsessed with his job, and has been known to pick up demolition contracts for local construction companies in his spare time. Pendleton got his job as medic only after being fired from multiple private-sector jobs for having the worst bedside manner imaginable. The floaters, a pair of twins who actually have a secret language, are known only as The Robinsons. And then there’s the sniper, who is supposedly the best shot anyone has ever seen, but also goes only by his codename, Hawkeye. 

Phil’s pretty sure that none of them have a deep love for Anderson, but he can’t imagine that getting a new handler hours before the most dangerous mission they’ll have all year is going to go over well. 

He steels himself before walking into the conference room. The Robinsons give him a quick glance before returning to their conversation. He _thinks_ they might be talking about him, but they could also be discussing lunch- it’s hard to say. Caprezo is hunched over the blueprints of the city block of their mission, gleefully circling several gridpoints in red pen. Cooper is sitting cross-legged on the table, filing her nails. Pendleton gives Phil a challenging glare. 

The last member of the team is standing by the window, looking out over Manhattan. There’s something gut-punchingly familiar about the way he stands, the tense set of the shoulders. It _can’t_ be, Phil thinks, but then Hawkeye turns around, and it is.

It’s Clint.

Phil doesn't have time to panic before Fury comes storming in behind him, slamming a stack of files on the table and barking for Clint- Hawkeye- to take a seat. 

Phil forces himself to pay attention in the briefing, helped along by the knowledge that if he makes a mistake, someone could die- and that someone could be Clint. He sneaks a few sidelong glances down the table, but Clint’s eyes are focused on the maps in front of him, his face blanker than Phil has ever seen it. 

They go straight from the conference room to a quinjet, and Phil can’t pull Clint aside without looking suspicious. He contents himself with memorizing everything in the mission file. It helps that he did a lot of the intelligence analysis in the lead-up, but it doesn't change the fact that this is his first time in the field in nearly eight years. 

He’s honestly a little shocked when the mission goes off without a hitch. For all that the members of the gamma team are a little… quirky, they are also very, very good at their jobs. Cooper gets in close to the mark, slipping a bug in his pocket and a sedative in his drink, casually helping him out of the bar and into a cab. Caprezo blows the bridge at just the right moment, trapping the thug’s bodyguards in the second car on the wrong side of the river. The Robinsons play the panicked tourist role perfectly, thoroughly distracting the first responders and making everyone but the goons forget about the car that went over the bridge just before it mysteriously collapsed- and when the goons come up with the idea of swimming across the river, they disappear in quick succession, bleeding out from their foreheads well before they have the time to drown. Pendleton is mostly unneeded, but gives everyone a quick check-over and tells Caprezo to ‘man the fuck up’ when the demo expert complains about needing stitches. 

He’s pretty sure that gamma team has been unfairly represented, that any handler would actually be able to come in and talk them through their objectives, as long as they were willing to give the team a chance, but he’s also pretty sure that gamma team likes being isolated from the rest of SHIELD.

When they get back to base, the team gets to disperse for medical, excused from filing their after-actions for 48 hours so they have time to unwind. Phil, as mission handler, is not so lucky. He finds himself first in Fury’s office, then in a meeting with two other handlers who are about to run ops related to the same cartel. _Then_ he has to run to his office to hurry through the paperwork that absolutely must be filed that day, if he doesn't want HR up his ass for the next month. 

It’s well past dark when he finally walks out of SHIELD, and he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know if Clint wants to talk, or wants space. Hell, he doesn't know if Clint actually wants anything to do with him. 

Clearly they were both lying to the other, and for good reason- SHIELD has specific rules about how much information can be shared with civilians, and when. Part of why Phil had been putting off the move-in talk was the sinking feeling that it would be dishonest to move in with someone who didn't actually know what Phil does for a living. 

The more he thinks about it, the more things start to fall together. It had always been so convenient that Clint was busy with work at the same times as Phil- Clint was busy with the same problems. He would often come back after the busy times with minor injuries, sometimes with his sleeping schedule all backwards from being in a different time zone. The only thing that doesn't quite fit is Clint’s shitty apartment. Phil knows that field agents get decent base pay, plus mission bonuses and hazard pay, but the more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure that Clint probably has safe houses set up all over the world, complete with extra vehicles and multiple forms of identification. 

He wanders back to his apartment in a bit of a haze, intending to order a pizza and collapse into bed, and is surprised to see a strip of light coming from under his front door. He eases his sidearm out of the concealed holster at his side, then pushes the door open to see Clint in the kitchen flipping pancakes. 

When he turns around, Clint’s face is guarded, but not upset, and Phil allows himself to hope. 

Phil’s more than a little desperate to get out of his suit, so he quickly ducks into his bedroom, shucking the Agent Coulson uniform for jeans and a soft gray tee-shirt that he knows Clint loves. Clint had also changed, and is still standing barefoot in Phil’s kitchen, now cooking bacon. He doesn't move when Phil wraps his arms around Clint’s waist, but Phil can hear the smile in his voice.

“I think we’re backwards,” Clint says. “Pretty sure I’m supposed to snuggle up to you while _you_ cook.” 

“You’re the one who got dinner started,” Phil points out. Never being one to beat around the bush, he adds, “Good job today.” 

Clint drops one hand to quickly tangle his fingers with Phil’s before he goes back to cooking. “Thanks. You too. When I heard we were getting a new handler, I didn't… you weren't what I expected.” 

Phil takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. “Yeah. We should talk.” 

“Yeah.”

\---

They retreat to opposite ends of the couch, hunger briefly winning over curiosity as they scarf down the pancakes and bacon. 

Clint, as usual, finishes first, and fiddles with his watch for a few moments before he asks, “Can I start?” 

Phil nods for him to go ahead, and Clint starts talking, watching Phil closely. He tells Phil about losing his parents (which Phil sort-of already knew) and going to the circus (which Phil hadn't) and learning to shoot a bow and arrow (which, really?). He breaks Phil’s heart with his description of being a teenager with nowhere to go, and makes him furrow his eyebrows a little when he talks about bouncing between military units and the alphabet soup agencies before getting picked up by SHIELD. He talks about living on base for the first few years while he put his entire salary towards paying off some long-due hospital bills, then, as Phil suspected, establishing a network of safe houses. 

He talks about being appreciated for his aim, but not really fitting in. He finally found his niche with the gamma team a few years ago, but they’re the kind of people that you work with and avoid ever seeing in any kind of personal way. He’d gotten so incredibly lonely that he signed up for an online dating account on a whim, but hadn't been having much luck.

And then David stood him up, and he had dinner with Phil instead.

When his story reaches the present, he takes a deep breath and gives Phil a half-smile. “I’m sorry I had to lie to you, even though I know you get why,” he says quietly. “I hated not being honest with you. This- this really feels like something real, and I didn't want to scare you off when you found out exactly what kind of security I do.”

Phil laughs a little at that, because he’d had the same concern. He talks Clint through his own history- typical suburbia in upstate New York, he and his sister both moving to the city for university, he at Columbia and she at NYU, becoming an army officer, going into the Rangers and meeting Nick Fury, then following Nick when he left to take over SHIELD. 

“When I told you I was an analyst, that was mostly true,” he says. “Shortly after Nick took over, he pulled me out of the field and put me on the intelligence and analysis team. I’m not sure why he threw me back in with your team today, but… I’m kind of glad he did. At least now we know.”

There’s a long, long silence, in which Phil puts his dishes on the coffee table and Clint pokes his finger through the hole in the knee of his jeans. Finally Clint looks up and asks, “What happens now?” 

“Well,” Phil says, thinking carefully about his phrasing. “I know your lease is up soon- mine is too- and I've been keeping an eye on listings, looking for a bigger place.” Clint’s face remains carefully neutral. “I know this is kind of a setback, in a way, finding out these huge things about each other, but I had been hoping to move in together. And I’d still like to, but I understand if you need time, or if-” Phil’s voice breaks a little- “if you’re not interested in dating a coworker.” 

“You idiot,” Clint mutters, and Phil would be offended except Clint is kissing him, desperate and a little messy, pushing Phil back into the arm of the couch. “In case you haven’t noticed, I kinda already moved in with you.” 

Phil laughs, just a little hysterical. “Yeah, well, I was thinking maybe somewhere with more space. I know not all of your stuff is here.”

Clint’s laughing too, fingers scrabbling across Phil’s back. “God, I can’t believe this is happening. No one is going to believe this.” 

That kind of brings up the other issue, the one Phil had sort of been avoiding. “Hey, um, we need to talk about what we’re going to tell SHIELD.”

Clint frowns. “Do we have to tell them anything?”

“They’re going to notice if we have the same address,” Phil points out. “And there’s a conflict of interest issue, now that I’m your supervisor.” 

Clint’s nose wrinkles. “You don’t want to work with me?”

“Of course I do,” Phil assures him, thumb stroking along his jaw. “But I don’t think I can be objective in situations where you’re in danger. And you work too hard to have someone say that you’re only getting ahead in SHIELD because you’re sleeping with your handler.” 

Clint sighs, pressing his forehead into Phil’s shoulder. “Yeah. You’re right, I just- I've gotten so used to keeping SHIELD and my personal life separate. Going to Fury and requesting a different position is going to be weird.”

“Well, it’ll help that I’m the one requesting a different position, not you,” Phil says, amused. “There’s no way he’s going to split up the gamma team. I’m going to ask to go back to I-and-A.” 

Clint lifts his head a little, looking Phil in the eye. “You sure?”

Phil leans forward, gives Clint a quick, but thorough, kiss. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

\---

When they tumble into bed together, it feels different. Phil isn't sure if it’s the fact that everything is out in the open, the decision to move in together, or the knowledge that they’re both tougher than previously thought, but they engage in several rounds of sweaty, athletic sex. 

When Clint finally falls asleep, clinging to Phil like a limpet, Phil puts his mind to crafting his speech for Fury.

\---

Fury looks thoroughly unimpressed. 

“You know, Phil, if you really didn't want to work with the gamma team, you could have just said so. Fucking the sniper is an extreme way to compromise yourself, don’t you think?”

Phil flushes, but refuses to look away. “It’s not just fucking, sir. Nick.”

Fury raises his eyebrows. “Well, damn. You’re really serious about this kid, aren't you.” 

Phil blushes even brighter, refuses to let a goofy smile cross his face. “Yeah.” 

\---

Phil doesn't go back to intelligence and analysis. 

Instead, Fury claims that the Rio op went so well that Phil should be promoted again, into a division- director position. He’s technically still Clint’s superior, has authority over the alpha, beta, gamma, delta, and epsilon teams, but rather than going out on missions with them, he analyzes their after-actions to figure out how they can be better. He’s also in charge of developing Fury’s new program, a plan to build their individual operatives into bigger strike-force teams that are capable of more than a quick infiltration and assassination. 

The promotion comes with a pretty nice office, and Clint takes great delight in camping out on the small sofa wedged in next to the bookshelf, attempting to goad Phil into office sex. 

He’s a little surprised by how professional Clint remains outside his office. Their relationship has become an open secret at SHIELD, and Fury’s blessing means that they don’t suffer any backlash, but there are clearly many, many people that don’t understand what the operations head is doing with a field sniper (and one with a known attitude problem, at that). 

Phil wishes they would take the time to see what he does- that Clint withdraws because he’s been hurt so many times that he doesn't want to give more people the chance, that Clint would die before he would betray his team, that Clint’s face when he laughs is the most beautiful thing that Phil has ever seen- but he contents himself with going home every night to their new apartment, always taking the time to enjoy Clint’s bulk pressed into his back as he makes them dinner.

\---

Nearly ten years later, Phil is _finally_ discharged from medical, and moves into their new home in Stark Tower.

He misses their old apartment, but their entire block is currently inaccessible, thanks to a building taken out by the Hulk. The new place does resemble home- someone has taken the time to move all of their belongings, and the furniture is arranged just how Phil likes it- but it has the unlived feeling of a model unit. Phil’s pretty sure that Clint has been sneaking back into medical every night and sleeping in a chair next to his bed, but he’s never caught him at it, which makes him suspect that Clint isn't ready to talk about Phil’s injury yet.

He leaves medical as early as they’ll let him- 6:00am, when the day shift doctors show up- and takes a cab back to the Tower. The place looks deserted, the common areas quiet. He hopes to find Clint in their bed, but the archer is nowhere to be found. 

Phil is too antsy to go back to sleep, even though the physical therapists keep telling him to rest, so he goes back out to the (obnoxiously large) kitchen and starts making breakfast, instead. 

It doesn't take long before there’s a warmth at his back, strong arms wrapping around his waist and a stubbly face pressed into his neck. 

Phil drops his left hand down to cover Clint’s, wedding rings knocking together, and smiles.


End file.
